Darkness in the Forest
by SerenLyall
Summary: Eryn Galen-Greenwood the Great-has begun to fall into darkness. Evil creatures stalk the shadows hunting, thirsting. When calamity befalls a group of travelers from Rivendell, accompanied by an escort led by Legolas, two of the company find themselves in a situation that quickly turns from bad to worse. Now they only have each other to rely on as they battle to simply stay alive
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Lord of the Rings, nor anything associated with that which are mentioned herein belong to me. I am simply a very poor, rather stressed high school student who hopes to be able to afford to go to college. Moral of the story - nothing is mine, and please don't sue me, because you'll get nothing but a lot of wasted time.

**Rating/Warnings:** Teen. Rated Teen for Violence.

**Category:** Adventure/Angst

**Time frame:** 2052 Third Age. Sauron first rose to power as the Necromancer in Dol Guldor in what became known as Mirkwood in 1000 Third Age, and Gandalf forced him from Dol Guldor (for the first time) in 2063 Third Age.

**A/N:** This is an EXTREMELY short chapter, so I shall have a very short A/N... Anyway. My plan is to update daily, but because of that, these chapters will likely all be much shorter than what mine normally are. Yes, this is because of a specific reason (please see dedication). I would absolutely love it if you would take the time to leave a few words on what you thought about this - whether you liked it, whether you didn't, or if you want me to continue to post the following chapters. In any case though, please enjoy!

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**Dedication:** This is written for my best friend, Mirnava, as a birthday present. It's a little (and by little, I mean a LOT) late, but here you have it nonetheless. Happy birthday, mellon nin.

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**Darkness in the Forest**

Mirkwood felt muted and pensive that afternoon, wrapped in a shifting veil of thin, pearlescent mist and trapped beneath a thick layer of storm clouds. Water dripped from the thick, richly hued leaves, rolling viscously from leaf tip to leaf tip, before finally plummeting to the sodden earth below.

The air was still amongst the trees, with nary a breath of wind to rustle the thinnest of branches. All sound that wound between the massive trunks felt suppressed; as if the had been swallowed whole by the thick, humid air, and only the faintest echo could still be heard from the belly of the great beast that had devoured it.

Elrohir kneed his gelding forward, urging him alongside his twin's pacing mount. Something troubling niggled at the back of his thoughts, causing him to fidget and glance about at the looming trees nervously. He could not place his finger on what it was that bothered him so and, in truth, he could not even be sure that what he sensed was a warning or even a true misgiving. He only knew that something was bothering him, and he wished to see if his brother felt the same.

Sensing Elrohir's approach, Elladan turned away from where he had been intently watching the path ahead. "What ails you, brother?" he asked softly. Somehow, he felt as if he should not attempt to disturb the quiet pall that had settled over the normally life-filled forest.

Elrohir was silent for a moment, gathering his wits. Now that he had finally decided to actually voice the feeling that had wormed its way into his thoughts and his heart, he found that he was having a difficult time describing what it was that he felt.

"Does the forest seem oddly…silent to you?" Elrohir finally asked, speaking just as quietly as his brother had. In truth, that was not exactly what it was that was bothering him, Elrohir knew, yet it seemed to be the only thing that he could associate with the odd feeling.

Legolas, who was riding a few paces ahead of them at the head of the column, looked back, his attention drawn by his friends' voices. Before Elladan could open his mouth to reply, Legolas smiled reassuringly and, slowing his own mare for a moment, fell in between the twins.

"The forest always is still just before a storm," the Silvan prince told his friends, "Especially if it is but a lull between two strong storm fronts. Do not let her silence bother you, for she is merely sleeping, waiting out the fury of the tempest." Still Elrohir looked uneasy, his gray eyes clouded. "Stop worrying so," Legolas added, laughing lightly, "Or else you'll start looking and sounding like Erestor."

This drew a short, sudden bark of laughter from the younger twin. While not precisely a "worrier," Erestor was well known for his ability to find each and every possible thing that could go wrong in any given moment. The tension dissolved from the trio, retreating back into the mist-wreathed shadows between the trees.

It was as if some sort of spell had been broken with Elrohir's laugh. The oppressive silence lifted away from the small company of elves that rode down the forest path, and soon the air was filled with the cheerful banter of the twins and their Woodland friend.

Behind them, and unnoticed by the three, Lord Elrond shifted in his saddle, his hand instinctively inching toward his sword hilt. None caught the slight flickering of the elf lord's eyes to the imposing trees encroaching on either side of the narrow, winding path, nor did any see the perturbed glint in his normally unreadable silver gaze. For just an instant – barely more than the space of a heartbeat – he sensed something move deep within the shadows of the forest. Then it was gone, and silence fell over the group once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine! *sobs* Please don't sue me!

**A/N:** Well, here we go with part 2! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, favorited and alerted! Honestly, I'll admit...at this point, I don't really know where I'm going with this. Well, I did, and then...well, Elrond decided that it was time to throw in a plot twist. Anyway, I'd love it if you'd let me know what you think! Thanks for taking the time to read, and I hope you enjoy.

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**Dedication:** For my best friend Mirnava.

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The horses picked their way along the narrow path slowly and carefully, snorting and dancing away whenever they strayed too close to the sheer drop a few feet to their right and sent a scattering of loose dirt and pebbles skittering over the edge and down into the dried gorge below. A steep cliff wall rose imposingly just on their left, its jagged ridge stretching more than two stones-throw high.

Legolas, who was yet riding near the head of the column, guided his stallion half a step to the right, urging him just a little closer to the edge of the precipice. Snorting, his steed obeyed, although grudgingly, bearing him close enough to the edge that he was able to peer down into the depths of the chasm.

All was silent far below. There was no melodic sound of rushing water, nor of crashing waves; nay, no sound at all of the river that should be running at the bottom of the ravine. Only the piercing whine of the wind as it cavorted between the cliff walls reached Legolas's ears, no matter how intently he listened.

Something was wrong.

"Adelforod," Legolas called, signaling to one of the two guards riding before him on the path. The silver-blonde warrior riding at the head of the escort turned his head to look at his prince, acknowledging that he heard and was awaiting Legolas's orders, despite the fact that he did not halt his horse, nor fall back. "Ride ahead," Legolas commanded. "Something is amiss with the river, and I would prefer knowing why that is before we come upon the reason by chance."

Adelforod nodded his head curtly, then spurred his horse into a trot. Within seconds, the scout had disappeared around a bend in the path, and the sound of his mount's hoof beats died away into the distance.

A quarter of an hour passed in near-silence. The sky overhead darkened minimally, the storm clouds thickening, if that were possible. The slight movement of air that had previously only been noticeable due to the keening it made as it passed through the gorge gained intensity, until a light breeze tugged at the elves' cloaks, sending them flapping against their mounts' flanks, and pulling at their long hair.

Abruptly, the cliff to the left side of the path dropped, lowering from an impressive wall of rock to a small ridge, before finally nearly disappearing altogether but for a small hump in the rock-strewn grass.

"Legolas?" The soft voice was startling after the silence, and the prince turned quickly in his saddle. To his surprise, he saw that it was Lord Elrond who had spoken.

Since Legolas had met the Rivendell delegation at the border of Mirkwood, he had heard the lord of Imladris speak only a few words, and these had mostly been directed toward his sons or the five warriors who had accompanied them from the valley. Now that he thought on it, Legolas realized just how strangely quiet the peredhil had been. What was causing him to be so reticent? Surely it could not be the impending meeting with his father, for the two were once again on speaking terms, and the council had been called for little other than the furthering of friendly relations between the two realms, as well as, perhaps, the signing of a new trade agreement. But if the oncoming meeting was not the cause, then what was it that was worrying the ancient warrior and healer, and causing him to withdraw? Legolas had no answers to his questions.

"Yes my lord?" Legolas replied, banishing his musings for the time being. Perhaps he would speak with the twins on the matter when they reached the palace.

"The storm will be upon us soon," Elrond murmured, drawing abreast of Legolas. He glanced up, a far-away look in his clouded gaze. "We should find shelter before it breaks, if we can."

Legolas looked at the older elf closely. Something in his voice had set small warning bells clanging in his head. He could not place his finger on what it was, precisely, but there was something…

Elrond's gaze wavered, and he turned to lock gazes with Legolas. For an instant, the prince felt trapped in a prison of stormy, swirling gray, lost in the forceful gaze of the half-elf. Just for an instant, Legolas felt something move behind those eyes, something deeper than the elf before him, yet whether this _something _was as powerful as the elf lord or not, Legolas could not being guess. Just for an instant, Legolas caught sight of a tantalizing melody that wrapped through the air and he felt that, if he could just reach out and touch it, he would be able to unravel the secrets of the future. Then Elrond blinked, and the image shattered.

Elrond caught a hold of Legolas's shoulder as he wavered in the saddle, reeling from what he had just seen.

"Legolas, are you well?" Elrond asked worriedly, steadying the younger elf. Legolas nodded, and straightened. He couldn't help but notice that the strange wistfulness that had tinged Elrond's voice just the moment before was gone, as was the far-away look in his eyes.

"Yes, I am well," Legolas replied, although his thoughts still swam from what he had just experienced. "My apologies, I do not know what came over me." Elrond nodded and turned away, although a small frown tugged at his brow.

What had just happened? The question haunted Legolas's thoughts, whirling about in a dizzying circle. He did not, _could _not understand it. And even more strange, and most disturbing, was that, as he had looked Elrond in the eyes after Elrond had steadied him, Legolas saw no recollection, nor realization of what had just happened. There had only been confusion and worry filling his gaze.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Neither Lord of the Rings nor anything herein belong to me, except for a couple of OC warriors that I had to throw in there. Don't get attached too attached though.

**A/N:** Hey guys...*peeks out from around corner* I'm back...I know, I know, it's been a long time since I updated this...*cringes* Please no throwing of sharp and/or pointy and/or blunt objects at my face/head/chest/legs. I'm sorry...I really am! And I do have excuses...like last week I was focused on finishing Chapter 6 of Poisoned Star (one of my other ongoing fics), and then I've been without internet for the past four days or so (I'm currently hijacking my mother's computer to update), plus Real Life came a-knocking. Anyway...I hope to be a little more reliable about updating than I have been recently...probably not the once-a-day schedule that I was hoping for, but I'll get it as close as I can. Thanks for bearing with me! ...*ducks around corner again* Oh, and please review! Whether it's just saying whether you liked it or did not, or pointing out an error that I made (Thank you, by the way, to Kything to Write, who pointed out that I should have called Mirkwood Eryn Galen, rather than Eryn Lasgalen), etc., I'd LOVE it if you'd leave at least a few words. Please? It would definitely help keep me writing and updating as fast as possible! (Not that I'm not trying anyway, but it would definitely give me a boost!) Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted last chapter!

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**Dedication: **For Mirnava, my best friend ever. This is just like the birthday that keeps on giving...and giving...and giving XD Happy birthday (again) seler!

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The sound of a horse picking up pace and drawing nigh finally broke into Legolas's thoughts, bringing his attention away from the drama of the moment before, and back to the present. He looked up to see Elladan spurring his gelding forward, Elrohir joining him a few seconds later.

"What was that all about?" Elladan queried, pitching his voice so that his father could hear his question as well. The elder twin glanced between friend and father expectantly. When an answer was not forthcoming from either of them, his brow darkened with slight annoyance, and he frowned.

Legolas choked back the barest of laughs at the expression on his friend's face. It was an expression that was often apparent on Lord Elrond's face, and more often than not it was directed at one of the three young elves arrayed behind him. Legolas wisely kept such thoughts to himself, however, for voicing them was likely to garner him a much more reproving look from the Lord of Rivendell, as well as a jab in the ribs from Elladan.

Instead, Legolas opened his mouth to answer Elladan's question. _Although,_ he thought as he tried to find words to describe what had just happened, _even I do not understand, so I am not sure how I hope to explain to the twins._

To Legolas's surprise, Elrond spoke, cutting him off before he could begin.

"I do not believe either of us knows precisely what just happened," Elrond said quietly, inadvertently mirroring Legolas's own thoughts, his voice carrying just far enough to reach the twins' and Legolas's ears. "Legolas faltered and swayed in his saddle. I caught him before he had the chance to fall."

Elrohir shook his head. "Nay, that is not what we meant; we saw that. We meant, what was it that you said to Legolas before he nearly fell from his horse?" His tone was lilting, as if he was joking, yet those who knew him well could hear the serious tone beneath, the slight tone of worry.

Elrond frowned, then shook his head.

"I said nothing to him, not until after I caught him."

Elrond's words hung in the air, bloated and lethargic, unwilling to fade away as those around him sat stunned and speechless.

"No," Elladan replied, breaking the pregnant silence more forcefully than he had perhaps intended. "Stop playing the fool Adar," he snapped, and his eyes flashed. But Legolas could sense the worry that underlay his friend's words, and he knew that it was this, rather than actual annoyance, that colored Elladan's tone.

Elrond looked taken aback, surprise fleetingly dancing in his gaze before it was hidden behind his customary mask. "Playing the fool?" he asked, directing his gaze toward Elladan.

It was Elrohir that answered. "Adar, we both saw you approach Legolas and speak with him," he said calmly. "You do not…"

Elrond was shook his head slightly, and Elrohir fell silent.

"I have no recollection of speaking with Legolas," Elrond said evenly. There was no waver in his voice, nor any flicker in his gaze.

"You truly believe that," Legolas murmured. Elrond looked at him sharply.

"Of course I do," the Elf lord said. "Why…" The tiniest glimmer of…something…understanding perhaps? sparked in his eyes.

"What happened?" Elrond asked, tone sharp. "Legolas, what did I say?" If he didn't know better, Legolas would have believed that there was just the faintest trace of fear in his gaze.

"You said that a-"

Legolas was cut off as thundering hoof beats pounded down the path before them, and he looked quickly forward up the path, his hand flying to the hilt of the sword belted at his waist and drawing the blade nearly an inch out of the sheath.

A single rider flashed between the trees, then exploded out onto the path before them. When he saw the party halting quickly, the warrior quickly drew rein, pulling his mount to a halt a few paces up the path of Legolas.

"Adelforod," Legolas exclaimed with relief, returning his sword to its sheath and releasing the hilt. "Is all well?" he asked a beat later, the sinking feeling of worry amassing in his stomach. This day was not going quite as planned. "What did you find?"

"My lord, the road ahead is all but destroyed," he gasped, winded by the hard ride.

"Destroyed?" Legolas replied faintly, shock rippling through him for the third time in nearly as many minutes.

"Aye my lord," Adelforod affirmed. "And there is something that you must see at once."

_To Be Continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Neither Lord of the Rings nor any of the characters herein (except for Adelforod) are mine. Rather they belong to the Tolkien Estate and the great Professor himself. No copyright infringement intended.

**Important Notice:** Okay, so I just figured I'd give you all a heads up that I edited Chapter 2 ever so minimally. In the part in which Elrond approaches Legolas and tells him "A storm is approaching..." and all that stuff, and Legolas looks into Elrond's eyes and sees...something...

Well that paragraph had been bothering me. Well, mostly just one little sentence in that paragraph. The new part is marked with "~" marks. It now reads as follows:

Elrond's gaze wavered, and he turned to lock gazes with Legolas. For an instant, the prince felt trapped in a prison of stormy, swirling gray, lost in the forceful gaze of the half-elf. ~Just for an instant, Legolas felt something move behind those eyes, something deeper than the elf before him, yet whether this _something _was as powerful as the elf lord or not, Legolas could not being guess.~ Just for an instant, Legolas caught sight of a tantalizing melody that wrapped through the air and he felt that, if he could just reach out and touch it, he would be able to unravel the secrets of the future. Then Elrond blinked, and the image shattered.

That's kinda...an important albeit slight change. You'll understand why later.

**A/N:** Again, there was a bit of a long delay in writing...really I should have had this written a long time ago, thanks to Thanksgiving Holiday and all that. But...I didn't. I do now though, so here you all are! Thank you SO so so SO so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and who favorited and alerted too! It really means a lot to me. Of course, it would also mean a lot to me if you'd drop off a few words on your way out this chapter too...:) In any case, thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoy! (Oh, and this entire fic is now approximately as long as one of my normal length chapters for other fics...)

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**Dedication:** For Mirnava, my unofficial sister and best friend. Happy birthday.

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"The water stretches for many miles both ways," Adelforod informed Legolas, although Elrond and the twins, who were sitting on their horses a few feet behind the prince and the Mirkwood warrior, were listening in as well.

"So this is what destroyed the road?" Legolas asked Adelforod, surveying the scene before him with a critical eye.

"Yes my lord. The road itself is under a little less than a horse's height of water, but there are strange currents that ripple and eddy just underneath the surface. When I attempted to cross, Asaya was nearly pulled from her feet and dragged beneath the water."

Legolas glanced at the warrior's mare. She was larger than most elven horses, as well as heavier, and had the thick chest and fetlock that was more common among Edain chargers rather than Elven mounts. If the currents had nearly pulled Asaya beneath, Legolas realized, there was no chance for the rest of the elven party to attempt a crossing.

Legolas turned back to the view of the forest that stretched out below the shallow ridge upon which they sat.

The land beneath them had been transformed into a lake, the tree trunks that protruded from the rippling waves looking swollen and sick. The water was murky, the shadow of the tree canopy overhead darkening the already filthy waves. Clods of mud clung to the flotsam that bobbed and weaved between the trunks until they were sucked down into the liquid depths with a small _glup_. The debris, whatever it was, would spring back to the water's surface a moment later, spinning wildly.

The waters stretched on farther than the eye could see, disappearing into the shadows of the forest far beyond. Adelforod was correct, at least as far as Legolas could see – the water stretched for miles.

"Is there no way around?" Elrohir asked. "Surely we can follow the water's edge until we find the road again on the other side?"

Legolas turned to his friend, a frown etched between his brows. "That would not be wise, I think," he murmured. "Of late the forest has not been as safe as it once was, and it has proven to be unwise to stray from the path unless the need is dire." _Our need may very well prove dire before we see this to the end, though,_ Legolas realized with a sinking feeling in his gut. He did not voice such thoughts.

"How did this happen?" Lord Elrond's voice was quiet, although lacking none of its usual strength. Legolas looked back toward him, although whether it was in relief or worry, he couldn't be sure, for this was the first time Elrond had spoken since the incident on the path. Ever since Adelforod's arrival, it was as if he had withdrawn even more than prior to the _incident_, his posture stiff and his eyes carefully guarded, even more so than usual, that is.

Legolas's gaze traveled from Elrond to Adelforod, and nodded, urging the warrior to answer the Elf Lord's query.

"The river along which much of the path travels stems from a natural lake nearby," Adelforod explained. "Where the lake empties into the river there is a narrow ravine, which, under normal circumstances, channels the water down the streambed, even during times of floods. However, during the raging storm of these past two days, a good deal of debris gathered in the mouth of the river, and the force of the waves lodged a great many torn trunks and branches amongst the stones of the head of the ravine, enough that the water was dammed. Only a slight trickle is able to creep between the cracks."

Legolas nodded grimly. "So that is why I could not hear the river running," he murmured. None replied, although he had not expected any to.

With a sigh, Legolas wheeled his mount away from the ledge, and nudged him toward the peredhel. "Come," he urged, "Let us return to the company, for there is naught else to see here, I think." The others followed suit, Elladan and Elrohir falling in directly behind Legolas, and Adelforod bringing up the rear.

"Legolas," Elrohir called softly, drawing the prince's attention.

"Yes, my friend?" Legolas replied, although with none of the usual teasing tones that his words would have been spoken with under normal circumstances, turning toward his raven-haired companion.

"Something is amiss," Elladan said quietly as they drew closer, pitching his voice low.

"You think I do not realize this?" Legolas asked sharply. He winced and quickly apologized. "I am sorry, I should not have snapped at you. I just…" He quickly scrubbed a hand down one side of his face, seeking to dispel the creeping weight of worry and tension that was beginning to overcome him. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? He did not even know what all _was_ wrong.

"Peace, my friend," Elrohir comforted, laying a hand on Legolas's shoulder for a moment. "We understand."

Legolas sighed, doggedly shoving his own uncertainties away. Now was not the time for weakness or worry; now was the time to be strong, and to be a leader worthy of his father's pride. Even so, for just an instant, Legolas wished that Lord Elrond would step forward and take control of the situation into his own capable hands. And then, with a sudden clench of his heart, Legolas realized that that was the crux of the problem…Lord Elrond…

They had no idea why, or even _how_ Elrond had forgotten a full moment of time, and that was perhaps the most worrying detail of all. Water could be traversed or navigated around. Storms could be weathered. But this…they had no answers for this. At least not yet.

"Legolas," Elladan snapped, punching him lightly in the shoulder. Legolas started, dragging himself out of his miring thoughts.

"What?" he mumbled, shaking his head.

"Did you not hear a word I just said?" Elladan asked disbelievingly. Legolas blushed, and shook his head slightly.

"I am sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere…"

"Obviously," Elladan retorted. Legolas did not quite miss the quick exchange of looks that passed between the twins, although he could not begin to comprehend what it was they had said to each other – none could, except for Arwen, and even her interpretations were rudimentary at best. "Well," Elladan said airily, "I shall leave Elrohir to repeat what it was I just said." With that, Elladan fell back, dropping into place beside his father.

Legolas looked sideways at Elrohir, a penitent grin quirking his lips. "Truly," he began.

"No need to apologize," Elrohir chuckled, waving the apology aside. "Just listen this time." Legolas nodded.

"Adar has been acting strange," Elrohir began. Not waiting for affirmation from Legolas, although the Silvan nodded in agreement, he continued. "He's been strangely quiet ever since the green shadow of Eryn Galen came into view. Not that he's ever one to chatter needlessly, but…perhaps there is simply something more _silent_ about his silence, if you know what I mean?" This time he waited for Legolas to nod before continuing. "And now today…something is wrong, Legolas. Very wrong. When Adelforod mentioned the river, Adar got the strangest look on his face. I cannot explain it, nor what it may have meant, but…" Elrohir trailed off, shaking his head. "Elladan and I are worried," he concluded, glancing back to where his twin had been attempting to engage their father in conversation. His attempts were proving to be quite futile.

Legolas was silent for a long moment, and the only sound was the five horses' hoof beats and the steady drip of water from leaves – Elladan, it seemed, had given up and was now riding silently as well. Finally, he spoke, although he pitched his voice low so that only Elrohir could hear – or so he hoped.

"There is something that I did not mention earlier," he murmured. "I was not sure that it was of any import…"

"What?" Elrohir queried, frowning.

"Just after your father spoke with me, our eyes met. And…" Legolas faltered, of a sudden plagued by doubts of what he had seen. Had it all simply been a figment of his imagination, that other presence behind Lord Elrond's gaze? The words died on his tongue.

For many days to come he would curse himself for that faltering. Perhaps things would have been different had he had the courage to speak. Perhaps…But things are never certain, and fate least of all.

_To Be Continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Seriously...how many times am I going to have to say this? Lord of the Rings isn't mine :/ It never has been, never will be. Although one can always dream...right?

**A/N:** Woop woop! Chapter 5 already! This fic is quickly turning into one of my most-chaptered fics, although definitely not my longest XD I've had quite a bit of free time in school these past couple of days, so I've been working on this fic a lot. That being said, hopefully I'll be able to have another update either tomorrow or Thursday. And on a completely RANDOM side note, ONLY 9 MORE DAYS UNTIL THE HOBBIT! :D

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc. I am terribly sorry to all of you reviewers who I did not reply to in person. I feel terrible...life just really got in the way. I'll try my hardest to make time to reply to all this chapter though!

Lastly, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! If you feel so inclined, I would be very much appreciative if you would leave a few words on your way out.

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**Dedication: **For my best friend, Mirnava. At the rate we (and this fic) are going, this is going to be your birthday present for next year too! XD Happy birthday.

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Legolas's stallion stopped abruptly, bracing his forelegs as he slid to a halt, nostrils flared. Legolas lurched forward in the saddle, not having been expecting such an abrupt halt, having been so intently focused upon his conversation with Elladan. Instinctively his legs tightened around the stallion's sides, keeping him from falling against his mount's neck.

"What is it?" Legolas asked, leaning forward to speak in the stallion's ear, running one hand down the sleek neck. "Is something wrong my friend?"

The singing of a flying arrow pierced the sudden silence that had fallen over the company. Legolas ducked, covering his head with an arm. He felt the wind of the arrow as it tore through the air just above his head, and an instant later heard a _thwup_ as the arrowhead impacted a tree behind him.

Legolas's adrenaline surged, the instinct to survive responding to the near-miss. He glanced at the arrow, still quivering in the bark, and felt his skin grow cold. Ratted black feathers fletched the thick arrow, and he knew of only one race that used fletching as atrocious as that. Even as the realization sunk in, Legolas was turning his gaze the other way, scanning the shadows between the trunks, searching for the enemy that had fired the arrow.

Something moved in the treetops overhead, causing the branches to rustle. Legolas's gaze snapped up to the canopy, and froze.

"Get down!" he bellowed, sliding from his mount's back and landing lightly on the soggy ground. He ducked down, putting his horse between himself and the treed enemy.

Arrows sang through the air and plummeted down among the elven party in a rain of dark death. A piercing, animalistic scream tore through the shriek, and Legolas's stallion reared, throwing his head and pounding the air with his hooves. For what felt like an eternity he teetered on his hind legs, and then he fell, two arrows in his side and another in his neck.

Legolas lunged to the side, rolling clear just as his horse crashed to the ground, lifeless. With a surge of energy the elf leapt to his feet and drew forth his sword, whirling toward the blanket of trees from whence the arrows flew.

"Legolas!" someone bellowed, and the prince glanced behind him toward the source of the voice. Someone tackled him, sending him sprawling to the leaf-strewn loam, the person landing heavily on top of him. As he landed, Legolas heard the hum of yet another volley.

The person on top of Legolas grunted with pain, and Legolas would have sworn that he could feel it through his own body as the arrowhead embedded itself into their flesh.

Another scream rent the air, and then the clang of metal against metal followed a second after. Howls reverberated between the tree trunks, as much at war with the elven battle cries as those to whom the yells belonged to.

Long raven hair obstructed Legolas's sight, keeping him from seeing what was happening. Raven hair…

_No!_ Legolas thought, even as he realized that the person on top of him had not moved since being struck.

Legolas heaved, pushing the body off of him, and clambered to his knees, glancing around him as he did so.

The scene was a mass of chaos and confusion. Orcs swarmed between the trees, their weapons upraised as they charged, howling all the while. The three elves still standing were already locked in the deadly dance of combat, their swords flashing in the faint light that managed to pierce the murky shadows beneath the canopy. At least one of the peredhel fighting was already bleeding from a wound in their forearm, and when Legolas caught the briefest of glimpses of Adelforod, he thought he saw a broken shaft protruding from his side.

The situation did not look promising.

Right now, however, there were other matters to attend to, Legolas thought. The fighting had yet to break through the fragile wall that the peredhel and the Mirkwood guard had erected, which left Legolas in the clear for at least a moment. As much as he yearned to go aid his friends, he knew that there was someone who needed his attention more urgently.

Legolas inspected the elf beside him, searching for the arrow that he had felt strike him. He found it quickly. An ugly shaft was buried in their back, just below the right shoulder blade. Blood was already staining the green cloth of their tunic, and splatters of crimson adorned the wood of the bolt.

Legolas's heart sank. He knew that he did not have the skill to safely remove the arrow, nor even the knowledge to know if it should be done. If there was no other choice, he could pull it forth, but that would likely result in far greater damage than had already been done. This sort of wound needed a proper and experienced healer, not a warrior prince who had only the most basic knowledge of field medicine. The only comfort to Legolas was that the injured elf continued to breathe steadily, and there was no wheezing or rasping in their lungs – yet.

He could stand it no longer; Legolas needed to know who it had been that had saved him. As carefully as he could, so as not to cause any more harm to peredhil than had already been exacted, Legolas rolled the elf beside him up onto his side. Gently, Legolas brushed back the hair from the elf's face.

It was Elladan.

A sudden shout drew Legolas's attention back toward the battle. One of the peredhel was down, an orc standing over them and lifting a hooked sword, ready to bring it slicing down into the elf trapped beneath it.

Legolas lunged to his feet, reaching for his sword as he did so, but to his mind's shock, his hand only passed through empty air.  
_ Reich!_ Legolas cursed to himself, suddenly realizing that he must have dropped his blade when Elladan tackled him. He glanced around at the ground frantically, and finally caught the gleam of metal amid the undergrowth. He reached down and grasped the hilt, pulling the blade free of the tangling weeds that held it.

But he had already lost three precious seconds, and in a battle like this, three seconds could make all of the difference between life and death. Legolas looked up, afraid of what he would see, even as his feet began to carry him toward the enemy.

And then he stopped abruptly as two things happened simultaneously.

The orc blade that was about to take the peredhil's life suddenly flew off to the side, the hand of the orc still clutching the crudely hewn hilt, the stump of the wrist spraying black blood. With a gurgling scream, the orc twisted and fell, the tip of a curved blade protruding from his back. And as he toppled to the ground, Legolas caught a glimpse of Lord Elrond as he wrenched his blade free of the corpse, and for just an instant, the prince did not recognize the Elf lord as he blazed with a light born of anger and battle furor.

At the same instant, Elladan coughed behind Legolas, diverting his attention. The Silvan elf glanced behind him for a split second, caught with indecision, the urge to go to his injured friend battling with the pressing need to aid the others in the skirmish.

"Ai," Elladan groaned, and Legolas made up his mind. Turning quickly, he knelt by Elladan's side.

"Do not move my friend," he told Elladan urgently. "You have been shot in the back."

"Thank you for the observation," Elladan quipped, "I hadn't noticed." Legolas grimaced.

"I am afraid that I cannot remove the shaft," Legolas informed the peredhil. "It is imbedded deeply, and I fear to cause more internal harm by removing it."

"Well I can't very well fight with an arrow in by back, can I?" Elladan said sardonically, hearing the din of battle and looking up from his position on the ground.

"I do not think that you should attempt to fight," Legolas cautioned, laying a hand on his friend's arm.

"We have to help," Elladan retorted, and attempted to push himself upright. He groaned and fell back to the earth, gritting his teeth.

"I tried to tell you," Legolas said testily. His nerves were thrumming, and as he knelt by Elladan's side for each passing second, he felt the overwhelming need to join the battle grow all the more intense.

"At least snap off the shaft of the arrow," Elladan begged, turning to Legolas. "Please."

Legolas moved swiftly, and before Elladan could even react, he had seized the arrow shaft and snapped it in half, casting the fletched portion away into the undergrowth.

Again, Elladan attempted to rise, and this time he was much more successful. He grimaced in agony as the arrowhead wreaked its havoc within him, but he uttered not a sound, stiffening his legs and forcing them to bear his weight through the sheer power of his will.

"Elladan," Legolas snapped, leaping to his feet and staying Elladan with a hand on his shoulder. "You will not aid us. You will only prove to be a liability if you attempt to fight. You may even succeed in getting one of us slain." It was a low blow, Legolas knew, yet that did not detract from its truthfulness, and he feared what would happen should Elladan succeed in engaging in combat.

"They need help," Elladan exclaimed vehemently, although he grit his teeth and clutched at his side an instant later, as if attempting to steady himself.

"You are right…" Legolas said, trailing off, and Elladan made to sidestep him. "No, wait Elladan. You are right, we need help, and badly. The main party is still on the path, awaiting our return," he said, now speaking rapidly. "Get to them, tell them of our predicament. Bring us aid."

Elladan hesitated for just an instant, his gaze fastened on the raging battle beyond Legolas. He finally tore his gaze away, and looked into Legolas's pale blue eyes. He nodded once, turned, and broke into a staggering lope, disappearing into shadow beneath the trees.

_Elbereth, keep him safe,_ Legolas prayed silently, and then turned toward the battle.

Legolas attacked, raising his sword into the charge position. As if on cue, the boundary that Elrond, Elrohir, and Adelforod had kept between the orcs and the rest of the clearing dissolved, and the enemy swarmed forward.

_They were holding them back,_ Legolas realized. _They were giving Elladan a chance, me a chance._

A battle cry tore from Legolas's lips, the single clarion note of music building in the air before him as he ran. And then with a nearly audible crunch, he engaged the first orc.

_To Be Continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Please see previous chapters.

**A/N:** Whoa. Yeah. Well. Sorry. That's all I'm really going to say...Sorry, sorry sorry. I mean it's been what, nearly a month since I updated? Not quite that long? I hope not. But yeah, I'm sooo terribly sorry. If you keep up with me or any of my other works, you probably have a pretty good idea why, but yeah... *ahem* Anyway, I finally figured out a way to get through this scene. The end was being difficult for some reason. Ugh. But! I have good news for you all! The next chapter is almost completely written already. And I intend to work on this fic all weekend. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favorited. New reviews would be most loved, as would favorites/alerts of course. It may take me a bit to reply to you in person 'cause I have a stack still to reply to from other things, but I would still love you for it! Most importantly though, enjoy. Oh, and happy holidays, as late as it is!

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**Dedication: **Happy birthday Mirnava, my best friend and all-but-blood sister. Oh, and Merry Christmas too... I guess this is turning into more than just your birthday present, huh?!

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Bone snapped and flesh split in a fountain of black blood as Legolas's blade cut through the first orc's torso, leaving a bloody chunk torn from the beast's lung and heart. It fell, croaking and gurgling, to lie dead upon the ground.

Legolas leapt over the corpse, using the still-heaving chest to push himself higher into the air. As he fell, the elf used the momentum to cleave the forehead of a second orc, slicing down through its skull and into its brain. A mighty wrench, a twirl, and a stab, and another orc fell dead at Legolas's feet, his blade protruding from its back.

Legolas lost himself in the fury of battle and blood, his only thought to attack. _Slice down, cut up, parry, twist, stab, cut up, leap._ The orders came thick and fast, his body reacting to the his mind's commands faster than he could even comprehend. His hands went numb, the shock of blade impacting blade and cleaving bone leaving his fingers and wrists tingling and unfeeling.

Five orcs, ten, and now fourteen lay in the wake of Legolas's scything blade. Yet still they continued to come, snarling and howling, hatred gleaming in their murky eyes. They were everywhere at once, swarming all around, coming at him from every side. For just an instant, Legolas had caught a glimpse of Adelforod battling three orcs with thick clubs, but just as quickly as they had drawn nigh, they were separated again.

The orcs pressed forward, using the advantage of their superior numbers, now attacking Legolas in three and four at a time. He leapt backward, only just avoiding a blow that would have decapitated him, and cut sideways as he landed, shoving away another orc that had dared come too close.

Two orcs leapt at Legolas, one of them impaling itself on Legolas's upraised sword. The second fell an instant later, its throat slashed open. It fell at Legolas's feet, causing him to dance backward to avoid it falling on him.

Something smacked the back of Legolas's head and he whirled, slashing at the new enemy. To his surprise, his sword grated against rough bark, gouging a deep cut into a low-hanging branch. The thick of the forest stretched away before him, inky black with shadow, the thick growth of the inner forest hanging low and ominous.

Legolas spun back, raising his sword and blocking a sweeping overhead blow from an orc scimitar that was aimed for the back of his head. With a snarl, Legolas lunged for his enemy, desperation suddenly giving him added strength.

How far had the orcs managed to drive him into the forest? How far away was the small clearing in which the fight had begun? And how? How had they managed to drive him into the darkness without him realizing what was happening?!

Legolas refocused only just in time to knock away a stab aimed at his stomach. He whirled, hacking through flesh and bone and sending the orc's head sliding off of the severed stump of its neck to roll waveringly away into the underbrush.

He was off balance for an instant, the corpse of the orc he had just decapitated falling toward him and a loosely flopping arm hitting and dragging down on his foot as he leapt away. It was all of the faltering in his guard that the orcs needed to make their move.

With a howl an orc lunged forward, blade slicing up. Legolas was a half second late in turning as he was still gaining his bearings and his balance. He managed to turn directly into the cut.

He did not cry out as the orc blade cut deeply into his arm midway above the elbow; he barely even acknowledged the pain, even as blood began to soak through his sleeve. Legolas completed the turn, bringing his sword up to gut the orc that had just wounded him, then pulled himself off of the blade and stumbled backwards.

Frenzied blows rained down on him, hammering in at him from every side. As Legolas was forced to step farther and farther back into the depths of the forest his blocks began to get both weaker and more frantic. More than once he only just saved himself from another severe wounding by a hair's breadth.

Legolas's injured arm was clenched tightly to his chest, and with each harried parry and block, the pain from the wound mounted. That was not a good sign; his adrenaline should still be blocking the pain receptors, at least partially. But as Legolas was driven back another step, only to find his back hitting a massive tree trunk, it felt as if his arm were afire.

Two orcs attacked at once. One of them swung its cudgel overhead, and the other stabbed with the short spear it held in both its hands. Legolas flung himself sideways, tucking and rolling to regain his feet a safe distance away. His injured arm betrayed him.

With a jolt, he realized that he was going to fall, his pained and bleeding arm unable to hold the weight he required of it. It gave out, and he was crashing to the ground. He managed to roll over onto his back and pull his sword up.

The first orc to have charged him was impaled on Legolas's blade. As the beast fell, it embedded the sword deeper and deeper into its chest, and Legolas felt bone grate against metal. The orc toppled slowly to the side and landed in a boneless sprawl, wrenching the hilt from Legolas's grasp as the blade hooked on a rib.

Legolas lunged for his sword, but it was just out of reach of where he had fallen. He attempted to gain his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins as the knowledge that he was about to die permeated the battle fervor. He glanced up and hesitated, the sight of the line of orcs bearing down on him momentarily freezing his movements, and causing his brain to go into a hyperactive spin as it tried in vain to decide what to do.

And then the first orc was leaping toward him, scimitar upraised, an ugly sneer etched onto its face and a triumphant gleam in its eye.

_To Be Continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **See previous chapters please!

**A/N:** Woop woop! I actually held true to my timetable this time! And guess what everyone...I have the entire next chapter already written, and after that it should be easier. I tend to have difficulties writing intense action/fight sequences (which means that a lot of my writing is difficult. Lol), but after next chapter, things calm down. Some. Oh, and I just thought that I should point out really quickly that it was the LAKE that is overflowing. The stream flows OUT of said lake, and thus the river has run dry. Just figured I should make that clear :) Thank you to all who reviewed last night/today! I'm sorry that I did not have the chance to reply just yet, so I figured I might as well do them very quickly here and now:

_cai-ann: As usual, thanks for reviewing! Don't worry, we'll see where the others are...eventually. At the rate that these chapters go, it might be five or six, but never fear, we will find out ;)  
_

_LalaithElerrina: nope, dearest Leggy-kins isn't going to die...just yet. Kidding, kidding! Never fear, he'll make it. Just maybe with slightly less blood than he started out with. The summary would be absolutely adored, and if I could I would bake you cookies in thanks.  
_

_Crookneck: Uh...Where to start? Lol. Thanks for catching the mistake. I'm glad you're enjoying it, and yay for winning the "yuk award!" Oh, and I really appreciated your "Forgive me, Legolas, but you're not a boss yet.." XD_

As usual, any reviews that you might wish to send my way would be beloved and treasured. Lurkers? I'm looking at you... :) Heehee... In any case, though, what I hope more than anything is that you enjoy this chapter.

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**Dedication:** For my best friend Mirnava who has stuck with me through thick and thin, and who I can always count on to be by my side, even if half a continent separates us. Le melon, seler. Oh, and happy birthday :)

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He came out of nowhere. At least, that was what it seemed like to Legolas. One moment, all he could see was the orc that was prepared to take his life, and then the next it was as if lightning had struck – if lightning could be as black as a raven's wing and wielding a curved blade.

For a second, Legolas could only stare in shocked amazement, unable to fathom who it was that had come to his rescue. Then the answer struck him, and Legolas experienced yet another electrifying shock. It was Lord Elrond.

The orcs, unprepared for such an onslaught, faltered and seemed to hesitate in their attack. So certain had they been on the imminent kill that now, faced with a new adversary, they froze as if uncertain as to what to do.

Legolas's mind finally kicked back into movement and he lunged to his feet. He tore his eyes away from the sight of the raven-haired lord of Imladris neatly ducking beneath a wild swing aimed for his head before ramming his own sword through his opponent's chest, and quickly crossed to the orc corpse from which his own blade protruded.

Wrapping his good hand around the hilt, Legolas wrenched the sword free of the corpse. He heard bone crack as it was forced out from between two ribs, but then the blade was pulled free with a sucking sound. Legolas whirled, preparing to go aid his friends' father.

In the five seconds in which Legolas's attention had been distracted, much had changed. Elrond had been driven back as the orcs, having resolved their uncertainty, attacked with new vigor and aggression, and after Lord Elrond took yet another step backwards, he was barely a step away from Legolas.

"Legolas, go!" Elrond shouted over his shoulder, slashing down to his left to drive back an orc attempting to creep around him. "Run! I shall be right behind you!"

All of Legolas's instincts bade him to attack, not to flee, but something in Lord Elrond's voice caused the prince to hesitate, and even to take a step further back into the forest. His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, and for the second time in as many minutes, Legolas found himself unable to make himself move, either to go forward to attack, or backwards to flee.

Elrond glanced over his shoulder and saw that Legolas had not yet obeyed his command. "Legolas!" the peredhel bellowed, "**Go**!"

Legolas turned and sprinted into the tangling enfolds of the forest. He did not know precisely why Lord Elrond had been so insistent that he run rather than fight, yet there had been something that Legolas had caught sight of in that instant in which their gazes had met that had shaken the uncertain paralysis that had frozen his limbs and had finally pushed him to turn and flee.

He tore through the thickening forest, feet flying as he leapt over undergrowth too tall or sturdy to brush through without harm – bushes with broad leaves and flamboyant flowers and tightly coiled, thick-stemmed ferns that grew in large clusters – and sprang across decaying logs and over the entrances to abandoned dens. He did not pause, did not falter, but merely ran, his ears and eyes attuned for any sign of pursuit.

Nothing; no sounds of pursuit whispered to him through the trees. In fact, he could hear nothing at all, nothing but the sound of his own flight. Even the trees themselves were silent, and the wind that had been playing through the canopy was strangely still. For a moment Legolas was thankful, a flare of relief and hope bubbling through him, but then with a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized what that truly meant – Elrond was not following either.

Legolas slid to a halt and turned about so that he was facing the way he had come. He felt as if he was just coming to his senses, and he cursed himself then, and called himself a coward thrice over for fleeing from the fight. What in Elbereth's name had Lord Elrond been thinking?

But Legolas already knew the answer to that question, realized that Elrond had never intended to follow him in his flight. But why, why, why? Why would he do such a thing?!

Legolas tensed, preparing to retrace his steps. But then he finally did hear what he had been fearing – the sounds of pursuit. It was not the light, flying footfalls of an elf either, but the lumbering, headlong charge of orcs. Legolas's blood ran cold as he thought of what such a thing could mean.

Again Legolas prepared to run back, only this time to find Lord Elrond and ensure that he was not sorely injured, or worse, but then, once more, the Elf lord's words and the look in his eyes sprang to Legolas's mind. And in that instant, Legolas realized what the peredhel had done – he had bent his own will over Legolas's, if only for an instant, and had pushed his mind to move his body to flight.

Anger flashed through Legolas, but an instant later it was replaced with another thought – _what had made Lord Elrond so desperate that he was willing to go to such lengths to persuade him to flee?_ And then another disturbing thought followed the first. _If he is indeed dead, then he sacrificed his own life to save mine, to give me a chance to escape._ How could he turn back and throw away such a sacrifice, if that had indeed been the case.

With a small cry of anger and despair, Legolas turned and once again began to run, dodging between the trees and pushing himself even faster than before.

For a second, Legolas considered climbing into the branches of one of the many trees, thus taking the tree-top path through the forest. But something in his heart warned him from doing so, made him feel uneasy about such a course of action. Perhaps it was the silence of the trees, or perhaps it was that he could feel some unspeakable malice creeping into air and staining the souls of even the ever-faithful trees. Whatever the case, Legolas continued on his earth-bound path.

Without warning, the trees ended. One moment, Legolas had been ducking beneath a low-hanging branch, and then the next he was sliding to a halt as he hit flat, open ground covered only by a thin layer of straggly grass. The sky, a thick mass of broiling storm clouds, stretched out overhead, fully visible for the first time that day.

Legolas glanced behind him, listening to the crashing sounds of the orcs following his scent trail through the forest. He had to keep moving. He stepped forward quickly, only to come to a sliding halt an instant later.

His attention having been focused on the sky overhead and the orcs coming behind, Legolas had failed to notice where he was. Realization washed over him however as he caught sight of the great chasm opening up at his very feet.

Legolas glanced down, taking in the sight of the dry streambed below, the rocks that normally were mere shadows beneath a thick current of sparkling water now jutting jaggedly up from slightly muddy, barren earth. Debris, such as partially rotten fragments of tree trunks and limbs were caught in the drying silt, and the water weeds that grew along the streambed were lying flat upon the earth, brown and yellow and clearly dead. So the stream indeed had been blocked and had run dry, with not even a trickle of water reaching this far from the water source.

Now where to go? He could follow the ravine either way, but one direction would merely lead him back to the overflowing lake, and the other would take him dangerously close to where the battle was. Legolas glanced both ways, peering up and down the streambed. It was only then that he realized that the lake was only just out of sight behind the trees, and he was amazed at how far the orcs had pushed him back. Was it just coincidence that he had fled here? Or had he somehow been pushed in this direction…?

Legolas would never know for sure the answer to his question, nor would he have time to ponder it any longer, for with the sound of undergrowth being torn and smashed, a pack of orcs poured out from between the trees.

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** See previous chapters. I'm too tired to say it...again.

**A/N:** Guess what guys?! Yeah, I'm updating again, third day in a row. And also guess what? I have yet another chapter written for tomorrow! I'm actually quite proud of myself, lol. Thanks to everybody who has read and reviewed, alerted and favorited. It all means a lot to me. And it would also mean a lot to me if you would take the chance to leave a quick few words, even if it's just to tell me that you liked it or hated it! And really...a few words of encouragement would go a long way for me right now. And now here's a couple of quick review responses, since again I didn't have time to personally PM a response:

_LalaithElerrina: You'll find out the answers to both of your questions in these next two chapters. Or at least partial answers..._

_cai-ann: Thank you so much. Your encouragement really means a lot to me, more than usual I mean. And I'm sorry, but it's going to take a couple of chapters for you to find out exactly what's up with Elrond...  
_

_Crookneck: I'm so proud of you! *sniffle* such a normal sized review! Haha. All shall be made clear soon enough...I think ;) I'm glad that you are at ease with Legolas's slight OOC-trip...which really wasn't so OOC after all it seems. *phew* Heehee. And yes, I'm sure Poisoned Star Elrond is being quite happy with me for the majority of this fic. This time he gets to be the badass warrior/leader/father-figure. Hehehe. _

Anyway, please enjoy! Oh, and if anyone guesses who the "figure" at the end is, you'll get a cookie. Oh, and I'm sorry for the cliff-hanger...Only not really ;) Muahaha

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**Dedication:** Happy birthday Mirnava

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Legolas turned to face this new wave of enemies, his hold on his sword hilt tightening. To his surprise, he could only count eleven orcs in the group cornering him. Surely there had been far more than that who had been attacking him, so why now only these eleven? Unless Lord Elrond had managed to kill all of the others…Legolas's train of thought was instantly derailed as the orcs attacked, charging toward him in a single line, weapons raised high.

Legolas charged as well, something new rising in his chest, an emotion that gave him added energy and numbed the pain in his arm. He finally realized what it was just as he was about to hit the line of orcs – anger.

Somewhere, deep in his heart, Legolas knew that some evil had befallen Elrond. As soon as Legolas had realized that the lord of Imladris was not following him, he had known that he had stayed behind to defeat the orcs or fall in the attempt. And now…now that he was not here and the orcs were, Legolas could think of only a handful of scenarios, and none of them ended with the Lord of Imladris in a comfortable position. And Legolas was angry; angry at Elrond for doing what he had, at himself for not having been able to resist Elrond's persuasion and for having fled the battle. But mostly Legolas was angry at the orcs. He gave himself over to that feeling of rage, as dangerous as that was, and allowed it to fuel his fight, strengthening his weakening body and hardening his resolve.

Three orcs fell beneath his blade within the first moment, their dying screams mingling with the blood-crazed orcs' howls. Legolas, however, did not utter a sound, even as he cut down a fourth and a fifth orc. Only six remained.

The attacked at once, arrayed in a semi-circle. Legolas nimbly sidestepped the first blow, battered away the second, and decapitated the orc nearest him. The orcs pressed forward a little tighter, closing in the gap left by their fallen comrade. Another orc fell, stabbed through the gut, and Legolas danced back tauntingly.

The orcs rushed him all at once, shoulder to shoulder. Legolas met them head-on, slashing down the orc in the center as he lunged forward and broke through the line. What he had not been expecting, however, was the abrupt drop directly behind him that he had inadvertently backed too far toward.

The orc on his right twisted, seeing the ravine too late and overcorrecting himself in an attempt to stay on firm ground. With a snarl, the orc slid over the edge, but not before he had managed to tangle his fingers in Legolas's tunic.

Legolas was yanked backwards toward the ledge as the orc fell screaming to the riverbed far below, and likely would have been dragged over the edge if only the orc had managed to keep his hold on the tunic. Even so, Legolas was off balance, arms automatically spreading the better to regain his equilibrium. It was what the two remaining orcs had been waiting for.

A savage blow near the hilt sent Legolas's sword tumbling from his hand, and an instant later he felt clawed fingers closing about his throat and cutting off his air. Instinctually, he reached up, tearing at the wrist and hand of the orc that was choking him, but he could have been scratching at metal for all the good that it did.

The orc sneered and then pushed Legolas until his upper body was tilting precariously over the drop. His feet remained firmly seated on solid ground, yet if the orc released him in that instant, Legolas knew that he would not be able to regain his balance in time to save himself from falling. And with the river dry and the rocks exposed, such a fall would be as good as stabbing him in the heart.

Legolas shifted, throwing his weight forward as hard as he could while bringing his right foot up in the same instant and slamming his boot into the orc's knee. With a howl the orc released him and Legolas fell forward onto the grass, coughing and gasping.

One of the orcs' boots struck Legolas in the forehead which pushed him upwards and sent his center of weight backwards. With a jolt, Legolas felt the earth shift beneath him, and then begin to slide. He had only a second's worth of time to process what was happening, and then the ground seemed to disappear.

He made a frantic grab for the cliff edge, his fingers digging into loose soil. For an instant he thought he was going to fall, that the earth would give out on him again and would send him falling to his death. And then the tips of his fingers caught on an embedded stone, and he jolted to a halt, his injured arm shrieking in protest.

He kicked his feet against the cliff wall, searching for a ledge, or a toehold – anything to brace himself on. His left foot caught hold of a protruding lip of rock, and Legolas braced himself against it, then quickly readjusted his fingertip hold on the stone above. He knew he would not be able to hold himself there long, however, especially with his left arm injured as it was – already it was shaking under the strain and the pain and threatening to give out. He had to get back up soon.

Legolas looked up just in time to watch the two orcs approach the edge an arm's length above him. They were grinning with malicious glee, and as they looked down one of them chuckled.

"Wha' do ya think?" the first orc asked his companion. The second orc did not reply, but rather moved his foot toward where Legolas's hands were clutching at the stone.

Thinking that the orc intended to break his hold Legolas acted without thought, quickly shifting his right hand away and digging his fingers, once again, into the loose soil. It was the wrong decision. His left arm gave out, unable to bear the majority of his weight as his right hand slid, unable to gain purchase.

Three things happened at once.

Legolas's foot slid off of the protrusion and he slid toward the edge slowly, his fingers digging furrows into the dirt as he fought to keep himself up. He soon found that he hanging off of the edge, his fingers hooked on the final lip of stone that separated solid ground from free fall. Secondly, the two orcs, eyes going wide with sudden fear, lunged forward to grab him. And lastly, a third figure appeared on the cliff above him, naked sword stained in black orc blood gleaming in hand.

The third being moved nearly too fast for Legolas to comprehend, his mind in such a state addled by both pain and panic. But he did see the first orc go suddenly limp and fall to the side as he was struck in the head, and less than an instant later the second orc fell past him with a scream.

As the second orc fell, arms flailing, Legolas felt a fist strike the back of his head, slamming his forehead into the wall of stone. For a second, everything went black as he struggled to retain consciousness. His vision flickered back in for an instant, the suddenly too-bright light lancing into his eyes, and then went out a second time. His trembling hold on the cliff edge broke, and then he was falling, the air opening its arms to embrace him.

Just before he lost consciousness completely, his vision flickered back for an instant, blurred and hazy as it was. And there, just for an instant, he saw someone lunging down, arm outstretched. Fingers wrapped around his wrist with bruising force…And then nothing, only darkness.

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Lord of the Rings is not mine, nor is anything recognizable herein. The only things that belong to me are the characters Maelrodh and Dorriw. Please, no taking without permission.

**A/N:** Alright, so I don't entirely know what happened, but when I initially uploaded this chapter, the system glitched and uploaded the file without author's note, disclaimer, dedication, etc. So my apologies...

Also, I'd like to apologize for the long lapse in time since last update. I was suffering from severe writer's block on this story, and it was only last night that I was finally able to break it (coincidentally, it was using this that I was able to break my recent all-encompassing writer's block).

Thank you so very, very much for all of you who favorited and alerted on the last chapter. Also, special thanks to everyone who reviewed! You all are spectacular, amazing, and wonderful, and I love each and every one of you. To all of you who lurkers, thank you so much for reading, and I would love it if you would take the time to perhaps leave a few words in response, just telling me whether you liked it or not. Most importantly, however, I hope that you enjoy!

*NOTE* Chapter 9 is now edited and reuploaded. While the plot itself did not change, and the scene remained essentially the same, the way in which it was told underwent some major rewrites. So I would suggest rereading chapter 9, if you have the time :)

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**Dedication:** Dedication: For Mirnava for her birthday, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, April Fool's Day, and almost for my birthday as well! Heheh...Thank you so much for sticking through thick and thin with me, gwathel.

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Elladan tore through the trees at a staggering lope, hands in front of him to push away branches that reached down to pluck at his face and at his clothes. The undergrowth snagged at his legs and tried to trip him, but Elladan doggedly pushed on, for once caring little of the leaves that he crushed or the twigs that he snapped underfoot.

His breathing was harsh, even to his own ears, coming out in strange, panting rasps. His entire back and chest ached, and every time he moved, he could feel the arrowhead nudge a little deeper between his rips, burying closer and closer toward his lung with every second – leastways, he assumed it was his lung that the arrow was threatening, going by how difficult it was becoming to breathe as the pain intensified.

Elladan fiercely pushed such thoughts away, for they would do him – and those he was running to save – no good. If we was to bring aid to the others, he would need to reach the main party waiting on the road as soon as possible, and pausing to worry and fret over an injury would slow him down. So Elladan forged on, ignoring the growing agony as best as he could, forcing himself to breathe evenly and deeply, even as he put one foot in front of the other.

A large, convoluted root snagged at his toe, and Elladan staggered, slamming his shoulder into the trunk of the very tree whose root had caused him to stumble. For a long moment, Elladan could only stand there, clutching at the tree to keep himself upright as he panted and his legs threatened to give out under him. The world had begun to spin about him dizzyingly, and for a moment Elladan considered leaning over to vomit. But that would only make the world spin all the more, he realized, and he resolutely decided that throwing up would be a very bad idea.

How much farther was it to the trail? Surely it could not be much. They had only ridden through the forest proper for a few minutes before coming upon the swollen lake, and could not have gone more than half a mile, at the most.

Resolutely, Elladan pushed himself away from the tree and began his staggering lope through the trees once more. His eyes locked onto a single point in the distance – a shaft of gray light edged with the dark fronds of a pine – and pushed toward it, allowing all other sights and sounds to bleed away. His world narrowed until the gray framed by evergreen was all that he could see, and all that he could feel was the pain of his breath, and the fitful trickle of blood as it seeped down his back, and all that he could think of was to reach the point in the distance, to reach it…reach it…

Something seized him about the arm, and Elladan whirled. Or rather, he attempted to whirl, and in doing so he fell, his legs at last buckling. Before he could hit the ground, however, he felt another something grab his other arm, and then he was being lowered gently to the hard earth.

Faces swam above him, and all that Elladan could see was the leering grins and sharpened teeth of orcs. They were jeering, prodding at him with their harsh words and claws, holding him down as he struggled. The world seemed to be sliding in and out of focus, as if a dozen bees were trapped inside his head and in his ears…

"E-dan…Ell-dan…Elladan!"

Someone was speaking, was saying his name, and it wasn't the voice of an orc. Elladan struggled to concentrate on what was truly before him, and slowly his eyes slid into focus. Someone was bending over him, an intensely worried look carved deep into his face.

"M-Maelrodh?" Elladan croaked. The word was oddly slurred, and Elladan wondered at how thick his tongue felt.

"Yes, my lord," the captain answered with a nod, and he looked ever so slightly relieved, although Elladan couldn't think why that would be. "My lord, what happened?" he queried, his voice urgent.

Elladan frowned. His mind was spinning, just like the world, and he couldn't seem to order his thoughts. He grasped at them, clutched at them like a drowning man does to a shaft of wood, and achingly slowly – or so it seemed to him – he began to remember.

"Orcs," Elladan rasped, his voice still rough and his words still slurred. "Attack. Got shot. Need help…Legolas."

And then he could see them before him, fighting the rushing wave of orcs. He could see his father and brother fighting back to back, and there was Legolas, sword blade flashing as he cut the orcs down like flies. He looked back to his father and brother…and screamed.

"ADA!"

His father fell sideways, impaled with a spear. He landed on his knees, hand still wrapped about the hilt of his sword, and tried valiantly to stand. A sword cut through his leg, pinning him to the ground, and then a second was sent through his sword arm.

"Elrohir, wait!" Elladan howled as he watched his brother turn and then step in front of their father, bringing up his blade in defense. Elladan tried to struggle to his feet, the overwhelming need to go to his brother and father's aid overriding every other thought and base instinct. He could not get to his feet, could not even move. It was as if someone was holding him down, leaving him helpless but to watch the horror unfold before him.

And he did watch, even as he struggled against the invisible bonds that held him pinioned to the earth. He watched as his brother was cut down, his chest slashed so viciously that his ribs snapped and caved. He watched as the orcs stretched out his brother's body and staked it to the ground using spears and swords and knives, even as he still tried to draw breath. He watched as the orcs turned on his father next, watched as they speared him against a tree and then gutted him, watched as at last they silenced his scream with a knife through the throat, and then took his sword and tore the small silver circlet from his brow. And then Legolas came, and he cried out as he saw his friend dead on the ground, and his friends' father dead against the tree. And he watched as Legolas was cut down in turn, and his head mounted on a pike.

"Hold him down!" Maelrodh was practically lying on top of Elladan as he thrashed and convulsed, pinning his arms to his sides and his back to the earth. The captain felt a knee connect with his side, and his breath was momentarily forced from his body. He did not let go, however.

Three of the guards of Imladris leapt to come to their captain's aid. Two of them grabbed Elladan's legs, and the third knelt opposite Maelrodh, gripping the hallucinating elf by the shoulder and allowing the captain to sit up, albeit slowly and cautious, and still retaining his hold on Elladan's left shoulder.

"Ada, no," Elladan moaned, and then he abruptly went limp. "Elrohir," he whispered, and tears began to spill down his cheeks. "Elrohir, no. Please, don't go. Don't…don't leave me. Don't go where I can't follow you, where I can't protect you. Please…" And then Elladan fell silent, his eyes rolling back into his head as he at last lost consciousness.

"Mount up!" Maelrodh ordered, his voice ringing through the sudden silence and shattering the hushed pall that had fallen over the group as Elladan had begun screaming and thrashing. Movement sounded from all around as all, even the Silvan who were not officially under his command, made to obey. Turning to the Elf kneeling by Elladan's shoulder, Maelrodh held up a hand, halting him as he made to rise. "Dorríw," he began, addressing the Elf, "You have been to King Thranduil's palace before, have you not?" Dorríw nodded. "Take Lord Elladan and ride for the palace."

"Yes Captain," Dorríw nodding his head sharply in salute.

Standing, he whistled for his, and then leaned down and carefully raised Elladan. Maelrodh stepped forward to help, and together they two lifted the unconscious peredhel onto Dorríw's mare, who had come trotting over as soon as he had called. Mounting, Dorríw tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his tunic and pressed it against the arrow wound in Elladan's back, and then he wrapped the youth's waist with one arm to keep him on the horse. With his other hand, Dorríw took up the reins.

"May the Elbereth guide you on your path, and may Eru protect you," Maelrodh said, and Dorríw bowed his head.

"May Eru keep you from harm," Dorríw replied, and then nudged his mare into a fast walk. As soon as he was clear of the other horses, he spurred her into a gallop, and less than a moment later they were both out of sight.

"We ride," Maelrodh called, nimbly leaping into the saddle and taking up the reins with one hand. "Fan out, and watch for any signs of the enemy." He drew his sword, and the ring of a dozen blades sliding from scabbards echoed shrilly through the air. "Forward!"

The Elves rode into the trees, toward battle, and toward darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** please see previous chapters.

**A/N:** Not as long between updates this time! Yay! Thank you so very much to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited - your support means the world to me, and it really helps me to continue to write this. I know I have about a million (okay four) other projects that I'm working on right now, but honestly, I love writing this one so much, and I'm glad to hear that you all enjoy it too. I would simply _love_ it if you would take the time to drop a review, even just a few words to tell me what you think. I apologize in advance, however, for the fact that it will probably take me a while to respond - crazy life, what with ACT, SAT, finals, driving tests, and all those other fun things. But yeah...I hope you enjoy! And again, I'd love to hear from you.

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**Dedication:** For Mirnava, my best friend. I do believe we're slowly creeping up on the one-year anniversary of this fic...and it's still not even close to being done yet. Oops. But still...happy belated (er, early?) birthday!

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Chapter 11

They came upon the Orcs not five minutes later. The eerie silence that hung between the trees gave way suddenly to piercing shrieks and howls, and barely an instant later the Orcs burst through the undergrowth, brandishing curved scimitars and barbed spears.

The Elves fell upon the enemy with cold ruthlessness, melodious battle cries interweaving with and striving with the hideous screams of the Orcs. The horses plunged into the lines, trampling the beasts beneath their hooves even as their riders struck and slashed until their blades dripped with black blood.

Within moments silence had fallen again. The ground was littered with the hewn carcasses of the Orcs, and blood dripped from the leaves of the undergrowth and was splattered across the trunks of the trees, soaking the already sparse grass and sinking into the rain-sodden soil.

Maelrodh reined in his stallion and wheeled around, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield. His sword was at his side, the blade weeping ebony tears. The Elves were carefully picking their way between the trees, their horses snorting and shying away from the grotesque corpses. A few were bleeding from shallow cuts and gashes, but none were gravely injured and all were still mounted, much to Maelrodh's relief.

"Is there any sign of lords Elrond or Elrohir, or Prince Legolas?" Maelrodh called, even as he himself scanned over the clearing once more. Glancing from one to another of the riders, Maelrodh received a negative shake of the head each time.

Maelrodh clenched his fist, both disappointed and agitated, then signaled for the Elves to reform the skirmish line. He could not dispel the feeling of disaster drawing nigh.

Without a word of command or even question, the horses struck deeper into the forest, ears pricked and nostrils flared, attentive for any sign of danger. Their riders were tense, weapons drawn and still dripping with the blood of the slaughtered Orcs, bright eyes scanning the gloomy, stormy shadows that lurked beneath the thick canopy of leaves.

The din of battle burst abruptly through the silence, the ring of metal striking metal, of the screams of the dying and injured and intermittent howls of fury punctuating the air with startling alacrity. It was as if a veil of silence that had hung in the air had suddenly been dropped, allowing noise to reach the Elves' ears

"Quickly," Maelrodh called, brandishing his sword in a silent command. Kneeing his stallion Maelrodh leapt forward, sweeping through the final curtain of undergrowth and out into a small clearing.

The clearing was seething with howling Orcs, all of them cramming forward to swarm about a lone figure standing against the onslaught on the far side of the glade. The blade that the Elf wielded glittered in the sullen light as he slashed and hacked, dark hair whipping about his face as he whirled, and clinging to his blood-smeared cheek and sweaty neck. Crimson droplets wept from a gash down one cheek and his teeth were bloodied from a split lip, but his eyes gleamed with the wild, fey light brought to life only by battle.

Without a word the line of horsemen ploughed into crowd of Orcs, striking them down even as the beasts turned in surprise. Blades flashed, horses whinnied, and Orcs screamed in agony and terror as the Elves dealt death upon their fetid ranks. Within mere moments, most of the Orcs were lying dead, and what few remained had fled, howling in fear.

Maelrodh leapt from his saddle and hurried forward, reaching the dark-haired warrior that they had rescued just in time to catch him as he collapsed. Lowering him carefully down to the blood-soaked earth, Maelrodh quickly gave him a once-over to check for any life-threatening wounds.

"I am well, I am well," Elrohir gasped even as he sank down to sit upon the torn ground. His sword fell listlessly to his side, and the young lord wrapped his arms around his stomach, breathing heavily. He was trembling slightly, shoulders quivering and his teeth chattering.

Maelrodh quickly knelt beside his lord's son, worry gnawing at his gut. Gently placing a hand on Elrohir's shoulder, Maelrodh spoke calmingly. "My lord, are you injured?"

Elrohir shook his head, although he did not speak for a long moment. "I am well," he repeated at last, before finally loosening his hold on his stomach. Looking up at the captain, Elrohir grinned mirthlessly. "I am merely...overwhelmed I suppose would be an appropriate term." Glancing around at the dozens of Orc corpses lying all around, Elrohir grimaced and shook his head. "There were so many of them, and they just kept coming," he murmured.

"My lord," Maelrodh hedged, uncertain if it was wise to ask what he intended to while it was clear that Elrohir was unsettled and still recovering from the shock of the desperate battle. Elrohir looked up expectantly, and Maelrodh forged ahead. "My lord, do you know what became of your father or Prince Legolas?"

A flash of something – fear or uncertainty perhaps – crossed Elrohir's face, and his eyes latched onto Maelrodh's. "I had hoped that you had found them," he said. "I was pushed out of the clearing and into the trees, but the last I saw both my father and Legolas were still there." An instant later, a second flash of fear – one much more distinct – flared up in Elrohir's eyes. "Elladan," he gasped, and made as if to leap to his feet.

Maelrodh grasped Elrohir's wrist and held him down. "Peace, my lord," Maelrodh reassured the anxious youth. "Your brother found us and relayed to us the message. Dorríw is even now carrying him to King Thranduil's palace, where the healers will be able to properly attend to him."

"So he is not grievously injured?" Elrohir asked hopefully.

Maelrodh hesitated, unsure of what he should say. He knew, just as every other who had ever met the twins knew, just how close the brothers were. Likewise, he also knew what a harmful effect the knowledge of his brother's condition would be to Elrohir's state of mental wellbeing and focus, both of which would be needed in the near future if they were to find Lord Elrond and Prince Legolas.

"Your brother will be well, of that I have little doubt," Maelrodh said at last, speaking carefully so as not to speak a lie, but to hopefully be able to minimize the knowledge. "The healers at King Thranduil's palace are some of the greatest in the land, many of whom were trained by your father and his head healers themselves." Elrohir nodded slowly, although he did not look entirely convinced.

"I should go," Elrohir announced, once more making to stand. "Elladan will need me." Once again, Maelrodh halted the younger twin. He sat down reluctantly at Maelrodh's signal, although he did not look happy about it.

"My lord, we need your help," Maelrodh said. "If we are to find your father and the prince, we will need all of the skilled warriors that we have, and you alone of our current company know of what happened. You can help guide us, otherwise we will be searching blindly. And if your father or the prince are injured…" Maelrodh trailed off, unwilling to utter the words for fear of speaking the truth.

Elrohir bowed his head. "You are right," he muttered. "We must find my father and Legolas. But let us do so quickly, for both their sakes, and for Elladan's."

Maelrodh smiled and nodded. "Agreed," he declared, standing and offering a hand to the young warrior. Elrohir smiled and, after seizing the hilt of his fallen sword, grasped the proffered hand, allowing the older warrior to haul him to his feet. He winced ever so slightly at the movement, one hand drifting to his chest. Before Maelrodh could question him, however, Elrohir stepped away, dropping his arm down to his side.

"Come, I can lead you back to the site of the first attack," Elrohir called over his shoulder. "Perhaps we will find them awaiting us." He did not sound hopeful.

"Where is your horse?" Maelrodh questioned, motioning for his own to come to him before signaling the remaining Elves to follow Elrohir.

"At the site of the first attack," Elrohir replied, slowing as he half turned, although he did not halt. "I do not know that he survived," he stated, his voice cold and emotionless. Only the hard set of his eyes betrayed his sorrow at his words.

"Well, let us see what information that place has for us," Maelrodh announced, taking his stallion's trailing reins in one hand, and holding his sword with the other.

He only hoped that the site of the first battle would reveal to them them with those they sought, or at least show the way to where they were. He doubted that they would be so fortunate, however, for since when had life been easy?


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** see previous chapters. And if you don't believe me from those, lemme tell you again: I am NOT Tolkien, and I own nuthing except Maelrodh and Avasath.

**A/N:** Okay, I know I said I was updating One Bright Summer's Day next, but I am having such major writer's block for that one at this point... Anyway, I was also without internet for the last week, and so I was going through and reading some of my WIP's to get a feel for them again and finding nuances that I could use later and all of that fun stuff, and I got the strongest urge to write a good bit of this. So yeah, expect some faster updates over the next couple of weeks.

You may notice that we're still at having just 11 chapters. Why is this? Because I took a chapter out. I decided that its placing really ruins the flow of the story, and the building of intensity, and as such the prior chapter 9 has been removed. It will be reposted when it is appropriate to reveal what happened to Legolas. Until then...those of you who have been following this beforehand, you know. For those of you who are just joining us, you get to enjoy not knowing and having to wait to find out. *evil cackle*

I would positively love it if you all would take the chance to leave a review. Really, hearing from you all helps me so much, in more ways than one. Whether you liked it, suggestions you have, constructive criticism... Besides, we're SO CLOSE to fifty reviews! Chocolate chip brownies for anyone who reviews? (Yes, I am resorting to bribes of nommy food here)

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**Dedication:** for Mirnava, the best of friends. Happy birthday. Still. Or should it be again?

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It only took a few moments for them to reach the site of the attack. Maelrodh knew as soon as they had reached it, for the trees opened up abruptly onto a small clearing that was littered with the dead. The grass was drenched with the blood of Orcs, and the nauseating smell of death permeated the air, coating the tongue and the nostrils whenever one breathed.

The corpses lay where they had been slain, chests slashed open, skulls cloven in, arms and heads lying separated from their bodies but for a puddle of blood beneath. Broken spears and shattered blades lay amongst the carnage, tiny points of gleaming light amid a field of blackened death.

A single white corpse lay on the far side of the clearing – Legolas's horse. The grey mane and tail were matted with congealing blood, both black and scarlet, and blood was splattered across its bloated side and askew legs. Its eyes were still wide with the terror of its death, the glass dark brown orbs staring blindly into the sky.

Utter silence filled the glade – a silence that could only be heard in the aftermath of bloodshed, and in the wake of death. The birds were silent, and the wind was still. Even the raindrops, as they dripped from leaf to leaf to earth, were muted.

Elrohir stepped onto the empty battlefield first, his face settled into a stony, impenetrable mask, allowing no emotions to slip through into his eyes. His left hand grasped the hilt of his sword, which hung on his left hip, giving the appearance of ease, yet those who were closest to the young lord could see that his knuckles were white, and his arm was trembling from the force of his grip. He was afraid.

Maelrodh followed close behind Elrohir after bidding his horse stay among the trees, his eyes scanning the bloody earth. He carefully stepped over a severed arm, the hand still grasping the hilt of a notched sword, and then skirted the hewn corpse of an Orc whose chest had been sliced open by a thin, curved blade, rending the armor and riving the flesh beneath.

Behind him, Maelrodh could hear the rest of the escort slowly crossing the border between tree and battlefield. They moved slowly, fanning out into a straight line behind Maelrodh and Elrohir, gaze sweeping the ground, searching.

A long moment passed in silence, silence broken only by the soft tread of Elven boots upon blood-soaked earth, and the occasional clink of armor or thud of a body being moved.

"My lord!" The cry rang through the silence of the glade, causing every head to snap around, including Elrohir's.

A young Silvan with dark blond hair and a bow strapped across his back – one of Legolas's squad – was standing near to the center of the glade. He was holding something small and glittering in his hand. He looked troubled.

Elrohir bounded across the glade, leaping over the bodies that lay in his way in his haste. He pulled up short beside the archer, who handed the raven-haired lord something wordlessly. Maelrodh followed, albeit slower, a sick knot of apprehension in his gut that grew all the worse as he watched the wordless exchange.

Elrohir turned as Maelrodh approached, and his face was ashen. In his hands he held his father's delicate circlet. It was little more than two bands of silver twisted together, and caught in one of the joinings of the two bands were three strands of ebony hair.

"Where did you find this?" Maelrodh asked the Silvan, his worry making his tone sharper than he had intended.

"Here," the young Silvan replied, ignoring the Noldo's tone, pointing to the corpse that lay at his feet, "clenched in the Orc's hand."

"It is likely that it was merely torn off during the battle then," Maelrodh said, turning to Elrohir. "This means little."

Elrohir did not reply, merely tightened his hold on the thin circlet, then tucked it into his belt pouch. "For when we find him," was all that he said, and then turned away. Maelrodh watched him go.

"Our thanks for finding it," Maelrodh said after a moment, turning to the Silvan guard who was yet standing behind him, and laying hand on the youth's shoulder. Maelrodh felt as if he should say more but decided against it, the words lodging in his throat. He was yet unwilling to consider the possibility of never finding Lord Elrond, or of at least recovering his body – it was far too early to give up hope. So instead Maelrodh simply smiled tightly, and then moved away, beginning his search anew.

Elrohir was standing beside the trunk of a large oak, one arm braced against the bark overhead, when Maelrodh reached the far side of the clearing. Turning back, the Captain watched the others for a moment as the crooked line neared the edge of the battlefield. He looked to Elrohir once more.

The younger twin was closed off, his expression unreadable. But that was just as telling as if he had been screaming or raging to Maelrodh, for Elrohir had always been the most expressive of the brothers. He had taken after his mother in that regard, Maelrodh thought.

Maelrodh reached out to lay a comforting hand on Elrohir's shoulder. He did not move, although his shoulder tensed. Maelrodh floundered briefly, searching for something to say that would not sound overly exuberant or false.

The undergrowth rustled. Maelrodh's hand instantly fell from Elrohir's shoulder and snapped to his hilt, his fingers closing about the polished wood and twined wire in an instant. Elrohir too stiffened, drawing his sword an inch out of the scabbard, ready to withdraw it fully at the first sign of the threat. The others in the clearing halted as well, reaching for their weapons.

The undergrowth rustled again, and then grey nose and blue eyes of a large horse appeared from the shadows beneath the trees. The tall horse stepped into the clearing, ears pricked and nostrils flared, taking in the sight of the Elves watching it, weapons drawn. The horse snorted once, then turned to whicker over its shoulder.

A second horse – one that was nearly identical to the first but for the lighter dusting of grey on its muzzle – appeared, limping heavily. It paused as it entered the clearing, just as the first horse had done, regarding the Elves there with interest, but without fear.

Elrohir gave a gladsome cry and sprang forward, shoving his sword fully back into its sheath as he ran. The first horse snorted and stretched out its nose in greeting, snuffling against the twin's chest, and then rubbing its forehead against his tunic.

Again Maelrodh followed Elrohir, although he took the time to glance at the others in the clearing. Relief and even joy was visible among the Elves, for all recognized the nearly identical horses as belonging to the twin sons of Elrond. Twin stallions – born of Avasath, Elrond's mare, and Asfaloth, Glorfindel the Balrog-slayer's mighty stallion – gifted to Elladan and Elrohir on their fiftieth begetting day.

They both still bore their saddles and bridles, although one of the stirrups on the first comer's saddle – Elrohir's horse – had been twisted and badly battered. Elrohir realigned the stirrup, and then ran a practiced hand down the stallion's sides and legs, checking for wounds. Upon reaching them, Maelrodh did the same for Elladan's horse.

Maelrodh found the reason for the horse's limping almost at once. The shattered shaft of an Orc arrow was embedded in the mighty stallion's right flank, just above the leg. The stallion whickered and danced away as soon as Maelrodh made to touch the wound, which was still bleeding fitfully, causing Maelrodh to step back. He moved to the horse's head, and soothingly stroked the stallion's nose, murmuring soft, soothing words into his ear. The horse's head drooped slowly.

Quickly examining the rest of the horse, Maelrodh turned to Elrohir. "He has an arrow in his flank, but otherwise he is mostly unharmed. A few scratches, but nothing to cause worry."

"Likewise," Elrohir reported, meeting Maelrodh's gaze for the first time since their talk nearly half an hour before. "There is a long gash on his whither, but it is shallow and seems to pain him little."

"Can you ride him?" Maelrodh questioned.

"I would rather not, but I do not think it will harm him overmuch," Elrohir replied.

"Good," Maelrodh nodded, before turning to scan the Elves watching the happenings, waiting for orders. He returned his attention to Elrohir. "This is a good sign," he reminded Elrohir, patting the horse's neck. "If they managed to escape the battle relatively unharmed, and felt safe enough to return, then it is more than likely that your father and the Prince were also able to escape – and you know that neither would have strayed far from you or Elladan's sides."

"We have found no sign of Avasath, though," Elrohir reminded Maelrodh, "nor of the other guard that went with them. And of Legolas, we have seen only his fallen mount, and we knew already that his stallion was dead as he fell in the first volley."

Maelrodh fought to keep his expression void of emotion. "Then we simply search the surrounding forest. You were driven away from the glade, and it is possible that they were as well."

Keeping one hand on Elladan's horse's bridle, Maelrodh turned once more to look at the others, both of his company and of Legolas's. They had been watching and listening intently, and even before Maelrodh could give the command, the Elves moved away silently, automatically sorting themselves into groups of two or three, before stepping out of the glade and into the shadows beneath the leaves. They would search for tracks or other signs of passage, either of Elf or Orc – anything that would indicate where the missing Elves may be.

"Come, Elrohir," Maelrodh urged, "let us aid in the search."

Elrohir pushed away from the tree without a word, but he nodded before turning and striding purposefully across the invisible border between glade and forest. Maelrodh followed, watching the younger twin carefully and only just barely able to contain his worry, which now fully included the youngest twin.

If anything tragic had happened to either Lord Elrond or Prince Legolas... Maelrodh did not even wish to think of the possible repercussions. Not only would it spell likely disaster for two of the four remaining Elven realms, but it would utterly destroy both Thranduil and the entire half-Elven family.

_To Be Continued..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Please see previous chapters.

**A/N:** I realize it's been a couple of weeks since I actually updated. For a couple of reasons. 1) my headcanon challenge and I don't really like posting two things on the same night (except for in strange and unusual circumstances), and 2) I wasn't very motivated for the most part, which is silly and stuff. But anyway, I have three chapters (including this one, so two after today's) that are completely written, and just need a touch of editing. And then I'll actually be getting into the main part of the story that was my original inspiration for writing this. (Yes, 14 chapters before I get to the main story that I wanted to tell...fun, right?) But yes.

Thank you so much to the three of you who reviewed: Tathar, Punish-The-Guilty, and jabberwocki! You three are spectacularly awesome, and I'm very much appreciative. Oh, and we hit 50 reviews last chapter! *throws confetti* HUGE thanks to each and every one of you who have supported me thus far. I used to dream of getting fifty reviews on a story, and now this is the fourth one of mine to do so! You all are so spectacularly awesome, and I thank you so, so much! To all of my favoriters/alerters, thanks to you as well, and I'm glad to see that you're enjoying the tale! To all of my lurkers - I hope that you are enjoying reading. I'd love it if any of you would take the time to leave a few words in response - I always love hearing from you all, what you like and what you don't, and the only way I can improve is if I know what you all think! And...yes, I admit, more reviews/support will probably urge me to post the next chapter faster. Most importantly, out of EVERYTHING though, I hope that you enjoy the chapter!

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**Dedication:** For Mirnava, for her birthday. Yes, still.

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Chapter 12

The forest closed in over Elrohir's head, shutting out what weak light was able to pierce the cloud cover. The murky shadows were thick and moody, and to Elrohir it felt as if they were hiding a hundred secrets. He fought back a shudder, trying to repress the insidious thoughts that crept up on him. Yet he could not quite seem to block out the creeping whispers.

_Your father is lying in those shadows, swallowed whole. Bleeding, dying. Dead._

Elrohir gritted his teeth, his nails digging into the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist tight. No, he would _not_ allow these fears to gain a hold of him. He would not give up. It had not even been a full day.

_But it looks so bad. There were so many Orcs, and there is no sign of either of them. None that are reassuring in any case… _Something akin to despair crept up over Elrohir, stealing into his heart and thoughts, and Elrohir's hand unconscious drifted to his belt pouch, where his father's circlet was. _And Elladan is grievously injured – who knows what will become of him._ Elrohir fought valiantly against it, but the shadows of the forest pressed heavy upon him, and the chill of the air seemed to be seeping the very warmth from his bones.

Elrohir sensed as Maelrodh drew abreast of him, the Captain's shoulder against his. Elrohir was not entirely sure Maelrodh's purpose of doing so – for strength, or support perhaps? – but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He suddenly didn't feel quite so alone.

Together, the two of them struck deeper into the forest, eyes sweeping back and forth, taking in the trees and the brush in the dim light. There were a few signs of passage here and there – a broken branch, a bruised leaf, disturbed leaf litter – but such signs could have been left by a deer as likely as an Elf. Even so, they continued to search.

It was the smell that they found first. A sickening stench hung in the air, like spoilt meat, blood, and bile all mixed into one, then swirled through a latrine, faint at first but growing stronger as Elrohir and Maelrodh continued on. They looked at each other, hands going to the hilts of their swords, and then wordlessly altered their course slightly, following the scent.

They parted a screen of bushes, and found themselves in the midst of a wide swath of forest that had been trampled to death. Deep footprints had been pressed into the mud with leaves and twigs buried deep into the sludge, and the underbrush had been trampled to the earth. Branches had been savagely snapped off, and there were scratch marks against the trunks, indicating something very large and strong had forced its way past, likely with metal attached. Again Elrohir and Maelrodh shared a look. There was only one kind of creature that the Elves knew that would leave such a trail – Orcs.

Drawing their swords and quickening their pace, Elrohir and Maelrodh followed the path left by the Orcs. The stench grew stronger, until Elrohir was forced to breathe solely through his mouth, unable to bear the retched stink.

Without warning, they rounded a small bend and found themselves standing at the edge of a small hollow. The Orc trail continued around the lip of the depression but that was not what had caused the Elves to halt.

There were Orc corpses everywhere – lying among the trees, hidden beneath the shrubs, sprawled up the slope. Elrohir could only stare, eyes following the path of death up to the far side of the hollow. He guessed that the carnage continued on into the trees.

Elrohir looked at Maelrodh, eyes wide. Maelrodh could only shake his head, and then he shrugged slightly. Then he turned and began his careful descent down into the hollow, feet disturbing the leaf litter. The tumble of leaves and clods of dirt sounded piercing in eerie silence of the forest. Elrohir followed slowly, fighting to keep his breathing steady and even.

The air grew colder as Elrohir descended the small slope, and he shivered slightly. It also seemed to him that the light grew dimmer as he went. The silence was oppressive, like death and decay all woven together, and then draped like a cloak over the hollow. Elrohir tightened his grip on his sword, ignoring the flare of pain through his shoulder and down into his chest – he would not give in to the pain now, not yet.

Maelrodh was standing on the floor of the hollow when Elrohir reached the foot of the slope, utterly still and silent – listening, waiting, watching. Elrohir came up behind the Captain and stopped. He wanted to question Maelrodh, but it was as if there was something stilling him and keeping him from speaking.

"Something evil was here," Maelrodh murmured after a moment, and he turned to face Elrohir. "An evil the likes of which I have not felt for many years. Can you not feel it?"

Now that Maelrodh had said something, Elrohir could indeed sense it. This chill was not a natural cold – there was something sinister to it, some creeping malice beneath it. The air tasted heavy and dead, but not the kind of dead that accompanied a fresh battlefield – rather, the kind of dead air that is trapped in a locked and sealed tomb.

A memory niggled at the back of Elrohir's mind. He tried to access it, but it wriggled away, dancing just out of reach. He tried again, but again he failed to grasp it, and with that, it began to fade away. Elrohir shut his eyes tightly – but it was gone, now just an irritating tickle at the back of his mind.

"Do you know what this evil is?" Elrohir asked, giving up.

Maelrodh grimaced. "I have an inkling," he admitted slowly. "But they were all locked away long ago, and their tombs sealed." He shook his head. "I do not know," he sighed.

"Someone must have slain these Orcs though," Elrohir said, looking around. "Perhaps it was my father, or perhaps Legolas."

Maelrodh nodded hesitantly. "Perhaps," he said and turned, indicating that they should search about the hollow for any signs, although he avoided meeting Elrohir's eyes. Elrohir frowned, but turned to begin searching as well. He took the left side of the hollow, while Maelrodh turned to the right.

There was little to see beyond the Orc corpses and the broken underbrush. Elrohir nudged one Orc, and the corpse flopped over onto its back limply. Its chest had been hacked open, and its entire torso was stained with black blood. Its eyes were open and glassy in death, a look of fear etched into its face eternally. Elrohir's frown deepened – Orcs rarely showed fear in a battle, even as they lay dying.

_What happened here?_ he wondered numbly.

"Elrohir, come and look at this." Elrohir turned away from the corpse to see Maelrodh kneeling a few paces up the slope that led up the back of the hollow. Elrohir hurried down to the hollow floor, and then crossed to Maelrodh's side.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Look," Maelrodh said, moving aside so Elrohir could see what he was gesturing to.

The hilt of a dagger jutted up from the earth, the wire-wrapped hilt gleaming dully in the twilight light. Trapped beneath the hilt – torn off around the blade, which had been buried into the soil beneath – lay a piece of black cloth, the edges torn jaggedly.

"That is Adar's dagger," Elrohir said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He knelt, wrapping his hand around the hilt of the dagger, and drew it out of the ground. The black cloth came with it, fluttering in the wind of movement.

Elrohir pulled the cloth off of the blade and inspected it. It was thick, heavy cloth, the likes of which northern winter cloaks were made of. It was jet black, and there was little sign of greying or wear that would indicate that it had been out in the sun. Elrohir fingered it, and found the cloth to be strong, and although there was some dirt clinging to the fibers, there was little fraying.

"What do you make of this?" he asked, turning to Maelrodh. Maelrodh took it and similarly inspected the piece of cloth. His expression darkened.

"I think it is another piece to the puzzle. We must speak with King Thranduil as soon as possible," he said seriously, and stood.

"But what of Adar and Legolas?" Elrohir asked heatedly, leaping to his feet. "We cannot simply leave without ensuring that they are not lying here, injured and dying."

Maelrodh tucked the piece of cloth into his own belt pouch. "I am not saying that we should give up the search," he said softly, and lay a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "But this…this disturbs me greatly. There is great evil at work here, and I _must_ consult with King Thranduil, whether we find Lord Elrond and Prince Legolas or not. Do you understand me?"

Elrohir bowed his head. If there was one thing that he understood, it was duty. "Yes," he answered sullenly. "But let us look a little longer." Maelrodh nodded curtly.

Elrohir turned and surveyed the hollow, trying to take it in as a whole. They needed the entire picture – to get an idea of what just had happened here. Right now they only had bits and pieces of the puzzle, and no answers.

Trampled earth. Broken brush. Orc corpses. Scratches on a tree a little ways down the slope. Tumbled leaf litter.

Elrohir's eyes narrowed, and he looked back to where the knife had been buried in the ground. On closer inspection, he noticed that the earth had been torn and scuffed all about, like boots had been scrabbling in the loam. The scratches on the tree…

Elrohir whirled, and once more took in the hollow with a quick glance. With a bound, he hurried down the slope to the tree, and ran his fingers along the scuff marks that were a little above head height. He gave a cry, and Maelrodh hurried down to him.

"What is it?" Maelrodh asked, concerned.

"There was a battle here," Elrohir announced. He could feel Maelrodh's reproachful stare, and he waved his hand. "No, I mean a battle between something more than the Orcs. Do you know of an Orc who can throw an Elf into a tree?"

Maelrodh frowned and hesitated, then looked around closer. "What do you mean?"

"Look," Elrohir turned to the tree, trailing his fingers along the bark. "Do you see these marks?" Carefully, he pulled something caught in the ridges of the bark beside the scuff marks, and handed the strands to Maelrodh.

"What is this?" Maelrodh asked, taking the strands and bringing them to his face. "Wait, is this…" Elrohir nodded.

"It is hair," he affirmed, "and it is both Elven, and dark. Which means it must be Adar's." He turned back to the tree, and ran his fingers along the scratches in the bark. "These were made by something – or _someone_ – being thrown against it. There is blood on the ridges, likely from skin being gouged on the bark. And look at this," he knelt, and motioned around the earth at the base of the tree, "the earth was disturbed here, like something fell and rolled."

Elrohir stood, and turning he motioned at other points in the clearing. "Something tumbled down the hill there, and the earth is torn down at the center of the hollow. There is a cut in the fallen branch up the hill, like a blade cut into it – such a mark would take fast movement, and the Orcs are not known for being able to avoid a blow."

Maelrodh followed Elrohir's pointing finger, and he began to nod. "I think you are correct," he said at last. "There was a fight here. And I think it safe to assume that it was between your father and the being to which the black cloth belonged."

Elrohir nodded. "The only question is: where is Adar now? There is no sign of either of them – Adar, or his foe."

"Perhaps if we follow the trail left by the corpses…" Maelrodh suggested.

"It is worth a try," Elrohir said, nodding. With a twist of his stomach, he felt a wave of uncertainty fill him. But how would they ever find his father? How could they ever hope to be able to find a single body in the midst of the wild forest?

_Body – do you believe you'll find a body so soon?_ Doggedly, he fought down the wave of hopelessness that had once more begun to rise in heart and mind.

They had begun up the back slope when there came the sound of footsteps towards them from behind. Elrohir and Maelrodh whirled, brandishing their swords.

An Elf appeared at the top of the far side of the hollow, followed by two others. They stopped, staring in surprise around at the dead Orcs that filled the hollow.

"What news? What have you found?" Maelrodh called out. The Elves' eyes snapped to the Captain and lord, and then the leader spoke.

"We found Adelforod," he called. "He is dead."

_To Be Continued..._


End file.
